Page 2 of Hot Chicken (Sunday Brothers #6)

Teagan stared at the rooster for a minute in concentration.

“Not hungry for food,” he murmured. “More like…” Teagan’s eyes widened, and he cleared his throat.

He shot a glance at his handsome husband, bit his lip, and full-on blushed.

“Er. You know. On second thought, maybe I’m projecting.

He’s probably just hungry for cookies. Like you said. ”

Fern laughed, and so did I. But Hawk was giving the bird a sweet, thoughtful, sympathetic look again. “The poor thing really needs a good home, doesn’t he?”

I smiled softly. The man had the biggest heart in New England and endless love to give. I was so fucking lucky he was mine to love and care for in return.

Because he was, I ducked under the table and grabbed an insulated water bottle. Then I pressed the bottle into Hawk’s hands, wrapped my arms around his waist from behind, and pulled him against me. “Drink, baby,” I instructed softly. “It’s fucking hot out here.”

Hawk smiled a little as he obeyed, and despite the July heat and humidity making both of us sticky, he leaned into my chest like he relished the closeness as much as I did.

It had been an incredibly busy few weeks for both of us. Tourist season was in full swing, and despite hiring extra servers and cooks, I was at Panini Jack’s late every night.

Meanwhile, Hawk was up early each day working on new environmental initiatives for the town, taking a summer class at Hannabury, planning the Craft and Rummage Sale with the Little Pippin Hookers, our local fiber arts and community service group, and working shifts alongside me at the restaurant.

On the rare occasions when we were both home, we took care of our cats (who, Hawk insisted, required adequate stimulation for proper brain development), did household chores, and tackled some of the myriad decisions required to plan our upcoming fall wedding.

It shouldn’t have been possible to miss someone you shared a bed with each night, someone you lived your life beside, but there was a difference between side by side and together.

It had been a hot minute since Hawk and I had gone hiking, since we’d made time for him to give me a hand-waving, eye-rolling, hand-clasping retelling of his latest Pride and Prejudice fanfic, or even since I’d held his gorgeous body against mine like this for longer than a few minutes.

Which meant my body was now having a predictable reaction to having the sexiest man in the universe back in my arms where he belonged.

I set my chin on his shoulder, wanting to keep him as close as possible for as long as possible, and followed his gaze down to the rooster.

It was a cute little beast, I decided. Harmless-looking and sweet. The sort of thing your grandmother would like. But then I made the mistake of looking at its eyes.

At first glance, I’d thought the rooster looked sleepy with its half-shut eyes.

Now, though, the thing looked decidedly awake and really fucking smirky.

It probably didn’t help that someone had daubed gold craft paint on the bird’s eyes, which made them glow in the light.

The red wattles hanging below its beak were cartoonishly large and lopsided and frozen mid-flop in a way that made them look like…

like… well, like a pair of scarlet balls hanging off its face.

And once I’d thought the words, I couldn’t unsee it.

“That thing is mildly terrifying,” I joked. “And possibly pornographic.”

“Jack.” Hawk—my darling, my best friend, my future husband—turned his head and gave me an admonishing glance. “Don’t be mean.” He grabbed the rooster from the table and clutched it to his chest protectively. “He’s delightful .”

“He?” I repeated with a feeling of growing dread. “Bird, no. Tell me you don’t actually believe?—”

“Alright.” Fern finished unpacking her box and dusted her hands. “Let’s get some of this stuff priced up before the crowd arrives! How much for the cock? Think we could get five dollars if Tee does his Master Teagan thing and tells a tale about its energy?”

Hawk gave her an admonishing look. “Fern. A little respect, please. Sir Pecksworth is a priceless symbol of good fortune who deserves a good home.”

Fern blinked at him. So did I.

“Baby, you’re talking about the rooster like he’s real,” I pointed out, squeezing his waist tighter.

Hawk whirled in my arms. “Because he is!” he said passionately. Then he blinked like his outburst had startled even himself. “I, uh, I mean, he’s a real … ceramic rooster.” He set the thing down on the table, then frowned and picked it up again. “Whose name happens to be Sir Pecksworth.”

“Oh my gosh.” Teagan stared at Hawk with wide eyes. “Hawk’s an empath, too.”

Hawk scowled. “No! Don’t be silly. I just…” He bit his lip. “I feel like Pecky’s… lucky and that he really wants to come home with me and Jack.” He turned liquid eyes up to mine. “Okay?”

I opened my mouth. Then I closed it again.

I might have bought our house originally, but since it hadn’t been a home until Hawk had lived there, too, it was, without a doubt, our house. As such, Hawk never asked my permission when bringing things home, nor would I ever want him to. See also: the aforementioned yarn closet.

The only time Hawk had ever asked if we could keep something, it had involved our cats, which made sense since they were, you know, alive . So I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or be weirded out that he was asking permission now.

“Yes. Of course,” I said. “Whatever you want, baby.”

Hawk beamed up at me, love shining in his eyes.

Apparently, empaths and magical, cursed roosters weren’t the hard limit I’d thought they were.

Hawk pushed up on his tiptoes, wrapped his free arm around my neck, and gave me a soft kiss that reminded me he was mine forever, no matter how busy we both got.

“I love you, Jack Wyatt,” he whispered against my lips, which made me feel magical, too. “I really, really love you. Every day. All the time.”

I wrapped my arms around his waist. Was it a little odd that the ceramic chicken was pressed between us? Maybe. Would I let it stop me from kissing the man I loved? Fuck no. “Same, baby. Same. So let’s take Pecky home and feed him.”